Four Months in Cuba

by Luana Ehrlich

  She gave me a smile. “We could always go to McDonalds.”

  “No, Detective, I’m definitely not taking you to McDonalds tonight. How about McGuire’s instead?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m not sure we can get in there without a reservation.”

  “That’s why I called and made one for us as I was driving down here.”

  As we walked outside, she took my arm and said, “Have I ever told you how much I appreciate a man with a plan?”

  “No, but I’d like to hear more about that man.”

  “I have a feeling you’d rather talk about Frank Benson.”

  I opened the car door for her. “Why would I want to talk about Frank?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I thought maybe you might want to ask me why we were together this afternoon.”

  I shut the car door without saying a word, but after I walked around and got behind the wheel, I said, “Why were you and Frank together this afternoon?”

  “I’m glad you asked,” she said, strapping on her seatbelt. “Frank and I were both down at the gun range at the same time, and when he couldn’t get his car started, I offered to give him a ride back to his office.”

  “How convenient.”

  Nikki reached over and squeezed my arm. “Seriously? Are you actually jealous of Frank?”

  I shrugged. “Frank’s a handsome guy. You’ve got to admit that.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I know for a fact he’d like to get to know you better.”

  “The only guy I’d like to get to know better is the guy sitting next to me.”

  When we came to a stop in front of the guardhouse, I leaned over and gave her a kiss. “That’s a good answer, Detective Saxon.”

  The security officer smiled at us as he lifted the guardrail and waved us through.

  * * * *

  McGuire’s was a five-star restaurant about a twenty-minute drive from the FBI Academy. It was located in Stafford, Virginia, south of Quantico.

  I’d eaten there a couple of times before; once with a bunch of guys from the Academy and once with Katherine Broward. When I’d eaten there with the guys, all they could talk about was how good the food was. When I’d eaten there with Katherine, all she could talk about was how beautiful the restaurant was.

  The owners, Dylan and Bridgett McGuire, had purchased an early 1800s Georgian style mansion and converted it into a first-class eating establishment while still retaining the look and feel of a colonial estate.

  The restaurant was nestled in a grove of towering trees, surrounded by a perfectly manicured lawn with a cobblestone driveway that led up to the mansion.

  When we arrived, the setting sun was bathing the sky overhead with a beautiful display of golden hues, and the sight elicited several oohh’s and aahh’s from Nikki.

  As we walked from the parking lot over to the restaurant, I gestured toward the heavens and said, “I ordered this just for you.”

  She looked up at the sky and nodded. “You did good.”

  Pointing off to the left she said, “Maybe you should have asked the painter to add a little more orange in that spot over there, though.”

  I stood behind her and took hold of her arm. Lifting it toward the horizon, I said, “Show me exactly where you’d want that orange to go.”

  She moved my arm to the left. “Here’s a perfect spot for it.”

  When she turned to face me, I said, “Perfect is what this is.”

  As she put her arms around my neck, I leaned down and kissed her. When her warm lips met mine, all I could think about was prolonging the moment for as long as possible.

  We drew apart a few seconds later when the door of the restaurant opened and a group of people walked out.

  “I guess we’d better go inside,” I said.

  She placed her finger on my lips. “To be continued.”

  * * * *

  The hostess smiled when I asked for a secluded table in a quiet room, and after a brief wait, she seated us in what she said was the original owner’s private office.

  There were only four other tables in the room, and she put us in front of a picture window that looked out on a large gazebo. After the waitress had taken our drink orders, Nikki and I discussed what it must have been like to live in the mansion in the 1800s.

  “I know people think life was a lot simpler then,” Nikki said, “but I imagine the physical aspects of making a living were pretty daunting.”

  “I think life back then would have been a lot simpler in terms of having fewer choices to make. Our lives today are complicated by all of our choices.”

  Nikki shook her head. “Listen to us. I’m sure we’ve got more important things to talk about than life on a Virginia plantation.”

  She laid her hand on top of mine. “I know you can’t tell me about your assignment or where you’ve been, but can you at least tell me if your mission was a success?”

  “That’s still up for debate, but it’s not over yet. I’ll be leaving again in a few days.”

  “Are you staying out at The Meadows while you’re here?”

  I nodded. “I’m headed out there tonight.”

  “Don’t be surprised when you see Stormy. He’s really grown in the last month. Arkady insists it’s the special diet he’s feeding him, but I just think Stormy’s growing out of his puppy stage.”

  “Have you been out to The Meadows very much since I’ve been gone?”

  “I’ve been trying to check on Stormy at least twice a week. Tuesdays and Wednesdays are my half days at the Academy, and I usually go out there one of those days, and I always go out on Saturday.”

  “I know Stormy must love your visits.”

  She smiled. “You know, as often as I’ve been out there, I still haven’t met the elusive Mr. Carlton yet.”

  Although Nikki knew the owner of The Meadows was a man by the name of Douglas Carlton, I’d never told her he was my operations officer at the Agency. She was a good detective, though, so I felt sure she must have figured out the owner worked for the CIA.

  “Mr. Carlton is a busy man,” I said. “I doubt if he’ll show up, even when I’m out there.”

  When the waitress brought our entrees, I decided to change the subject. “Tell me about your classes. Are you missing detective work?”

  “Umm . . . maybe a little, but it’s not like I’ll forget anything. I’m in a class where the instructor assigns us a partner and gives us a case to solve every week. It’s all on paper, so there’s no legwork involved, but at least I’m in no danger of getting rusty.”

  “So tell me, Detective, how would you go about solving a case that involved a missing person?”

  She took a drink of her iced tea. “What kind of missing person?”

  “Say, someone who’s been kidnapped.”

  She nodded. “Well, first I’d look at the family members. A young child is usually taken by a parent. It might be a case of a custody battle or—”

  “What if it’s not a young child? What if it’s an adult? Let’s say it’s a male.”

  For a moment, she concentrated on cutting up her steak. “An adult kidnapping. That’s a little different, but I’d still investigate the people who were closest to him; business associates, girlfriends, the guys he usually hangs out with.”

  “Let’s change things around a bit. What if you knew the person who’d done the kidnapping, but you weren’t able to arrest him or locate where he was holding the victim.”

  She stared out the window at the gazebo where an old man was photographing a young couple.

  “First,” she said, “I’d put the kidnapper under surveillance. If the victim was being held for ransom, then, more than likely, the kidnapper would need to check up on him. If surveillance didn’t yield results, then I’d look at the kidnapper’s associates, his family members, anyone he’d trust enough to look after the victim for him.”

  “So you’d look into the kidnapper’s connections?”

  She smiled. “Am I supp
osed to believe this is a hypothetical case we’re talking about here?”

  “Of course. What else could it be?”

  * * * *

  The last time we’d been together, I’d promised Nikki I’d try to share more of my personal life with her—at least the part that wasn’t classified—and an opportunity presented itself when we were finishing up dinner.

  Unfortunately, I was unwilling to take advantage of it.

  “This would be a perfect night for us to drive over to the marina at Widewater and take a moonlight cruise down the Potomac,” she said. “Are you up for that?”

  “Ah . . . no, not really.”

  “Okay,” she said, looking a little disappointed. “Since you said you got in late last night, you’re probably running on fumes right now. Maybe some other time.”

  I nodded, but the truth was I couldn’t bring myself to explain the real reason behind my aversion to spending a couple of hours on the water.

  During the rest of the meal, I was bothered by my stubborn refusal to let her into my private world, and, as we left the restaurant, I suggested we walk over to the gazebo before heading back to Quantico.

  Nikki immediately agreed.

  The octagonal wooden gazebo was painted white with a double roof and an ornate cupola on top. The top half of the structure was open to the air, and the bottom half was covered with latticework. Cushioned benches encircled the gazebo and twinkling miniature lights strung along the latticework provided subdued lighting.

  Before we ascended the stairs, Nikki and I paused to read the small wooden sign attached to the handrail.

  The sign had obviously been put there by the owners of the restaurant, and, after giving a brief history of the gazebo, they made the not-so-subtle suggestion it would be an appropriate setting for a small wedding with a reception to follow in the restaurant’s main dining room.

  As Nikki and I sat down on one of the benches, I wondered if the gazebo might also be an appropriate setting for a confession.

  * * * *

  The gazebo overlooked a small pond on the estate, and Nikki immediately commented on what a peaceful setting it was.

  “I’m sorry I had to disappoint you about the moonlight cruise,” I said. “It wasn’t that—”

  “No, that’s okay. We can do it another time.”

  I shook my head. “No, we can’t do it another time. To be truthful, I have a problem when it comes to being around large bodies of water.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “I . . . ah . . . I’m embarrassed to admit this, but there’s something about being around moving water that makes me dizzy.”

  “So you’re saying you get seasick?”

  “No, it can happen even when I’m on land and just looking out at the water.”

  “Have you ever told a doctor about this problem?”

  “No, I’ve never told anyone.”

  She grinned. “I bet I can guess why.”

  I nodded. “And you’d be right. Chalk it up to male pride.”

  “Has your aversion to water ever interfered with an assignment?”

  “It’s come pretty close. A few months ago, I had to take a refueling boat out to a yacht, and the only way I was able to manage the situation was to put into practice what someone once told me they did when they thought the secret police had them under observation.”

  “And that helped you?”

  I nodded. “I know that must sound weird.”

  “It doesn’t sound weird.”

  She looked down at her feet for a second, and then she looked up at me and smiled. “Well, okay, maybe it does sound a little weird.”

  I laughed. “At least both of us are being honest now.”

  “What exactly did you do?”

  “The guy said whenever he knew the secret police were watching him, he’d just breathe a prayer and keep on walking. Since I was on the boat, I mainly did the praying and breathing part.”

  “I can understand how both of those might have helped you.”

  She laid her head on my shoulder. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Titus. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

  I leaned over and kissed her. “You made it easy.”

  As we sat there locked in an embrace, a couple with two small children began walking up the steps of the gazebo.

  “It’s getting a little crowded in here,” I whispered in Nikki’s ear. “I think maybe we should leave.”

  “That was my thought as well.”

  The thought that we shared the same thought was a nice thought.

  * * * *

  Nikki and I were quiet on our way back to the Academy, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was an enjoyable kind of quiet—the kind where two people are in such perfect sync with their thoughts, there’s no need to voice them.

  As we neared the turnoff for Quantico, Nikki said, “I wish we could have more evenings like this.”

  I reached over and squeezed her hand. “We might be able to make that happen in a couple of months. You’ll be finished at the Academy by that time, and once this assignment’s over, I’ll be due a long vacation.”

  “What do you usually do when you have time off?”

  “Mostly, I just stick around Washington. It gets pretty boring after a while, but now that I own a home in Norman, I have a feeling I’ll have plenty to keep me busy.”

  “I hope you’re able to be back in Oklahoma in time for fall. It’s my favorite time of year, and, of course, in Norman, that means OU football.”

  “Do you go to the games?”

  She nodded. “I have season tickets. If I’m not working, I’m right there in the stands with all the rest of the fans.”

  “You don’t paint your face crimson and cream, do you?”

  She laughed. “Not for several years now.”

  After I pulled in the parking lot in front of The Jefferson, I looked over at Nikki and said, “I can’t make any promises, Nikki, but if possible, you and I will be going to an OU football game this fall.”

  “I don’t know, Titus. That sounds like what normal people do, and I just can’t picture you doing normal.”

  “Wait and see. I can do normal.”

  Chapter 30

  Forty minutes after telling Nikki goodbye—and assuring her I’d try to see her again before I left Langley—I pulled in the driveway at The Meadows.

  Gladys had once described the house as magnificent, and, while it certainly wasn’t as imposing as The Gray, the residence had an old-world charm to it that commanded attention.

  I’d called ahead and informed Millie Orlov, the live-in housekeeper, and her husband, Arkady, that I was back at Langley, and I’d be staying out at The Meadows for a few days.

  I knew I needed to phone the house before I got there, otherwise, I could be shot when I walked through the front door. More than likely, Millie, rather than Arkady, would be the one doing the shooting, since she was the better shot of the two.

  Millie had been a Level 2 Agency employee at our embassy in Seoul, Korea, in 1988, when Arkady Orlov, a citizen of the Soviet Union, had won an Olympic gold medal in weight lifting.

  Immediately after winning the medal, he’d made his way over to the American Embassy and defected.

  According to Arkady, when he’d seen Millie, it had been love at first sight, and six months after his defection, he and Millie had been married. Once Arkady had perfected his English, he’d gone to work for the Agency as a Russian translator, while Millie had become a consultant on Korean politics.

  Millie and Gladys had been best friends in college, and when Gladys had died, Carlton had asked Millie and Arkady to live at The Meadows and become the property’s caretakers.

  In the past when I’d arrived at the house, Arkady had usually met me in the driveway. Today, however, I noticed Millie was standing at the front door.

  Thankfully, she didn’t have a gun pointed at me.

  She did have a knife, though.

  * * * *


  When I looked down at the knife in Millie’s hand, she seemed a little embarrassed, but then she explained she was on her way out to the patio with the butcher knife when she happened to glance up at the security monitor and see me in the driveway.

  “Come out to the patio with me,” she said, walking back toward the kitchen, “Arkady and I are about to cut into a watermelon, and we’d love to have you share it with us.”

  “I can’t remember the last time I had a watermelon.”

  “By the way, Titus,” she said when she got to the kitchen, “welcome home.”

  Since Millie and Arkady were both Agency employees and knew Carlton was my boss, I felt certain they’d figured out I was a covert intelligence officer. Even so, I’d never talked with them about it, and they’d never questioned my comings and goings.

  “Thanks, it’s good to be back,” I said, following her outside, “but I’ve been gone so long, I’m not sure my dog will recognize me.”

  As we were walking over to the picnic table where Arkady was sitting, I spotted Stormy underneath a large oak tree about a hundred feet away from the swimming pool. Frisco, Arkady’s dog, was on the other side, and I could tell by the way they were both circling around the tree, they must have just chased a squirrel up there.

  However, the moment I greeted Arkady, Stormy jerked his head around and then made a beeline straight for the patio. I barely had time to brace myself before he put his two front paws on my chest and started licking my face.

  Millie laughed. “I hardly think he’s forgotten you.”

  “Hey, Stormy,” I said, rubbing his head, “have you been a good boy while I’ve been gone?”

  When he heard my question, he sat down and gave me his best doggie smile. At the same time, his tail was beating out a steady thump, thump, thump on the patio.

  “Of course, he’s been good,” Arkady said, handing me a slice of watermelon. “I’ve been training him.”

  As if to demonstrate his skill, Arkady pointed his finger at Stormy and said, “Lyezhat.”

  Stormy looked up at him, cocked his head to the left, and stared at him. A few seconds later, he lay down beside me.